


Dress Blues

by simplecoffee



Category: The Hunt for Red October (1990)
Genre: Established Relationship, Exhaustion, Hand & Finger Kink, Intimacy, Kissing, M/M, Neck Kissing, Threesome - M/M/M, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:54:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27071578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplecoffee/pseuds/simplecoffee
Summary: Bart comes home to Maine.
Relationships: Bart Mancuso/Jack Ryan, Bart Mancuso/Jack Ryan/Marko Ramius, Bart Mancuso/Marko Ramius, Marko Ramius/Jack Ryan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17
Collections: New Year's Resolutions 2020





	Dress Blues

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThisPolarNoise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisPolarNoise/gifts).



Bart shrugs his overcoat off in the hall, a slow rise and fall of his shoulders as the warmth of the indoors begins to sink into his skin. He leaves it up on the coatrack, fingers sluggish in its folds; hangs his service cap beside it, slips his shoes off, methodical, his eyes blinking shut for a little too long. 

He turns his face to the light. It's faint, filtering through to the hall from deeper in the house, a submariner's welcome. He breathes in the stillness, so far removed from the hum of the _Dallas_ but so much the same; breathes out the tension of spending the day reporting to talking heads on base. It takes more effort than he'd like to start to move again, drifting toward the warmth, trailing light and sound and heat to the kitchen.

Marko is stirring something on the stove, all rich aroma and steam. He smiles as Bart leans against the door jamb, covering the saucepan and nodding to him.

"Captain," Bart says, his voice emerging low, rough with overuse through the day, and Marko's smile deepens, his eyes bright.

"Commander," he replies, gravelly, gentle, and Bart resists the ever so slight temptation to walk up and touch, to get ahead of himself, distract him thoroughly from the stove. He stays where he is instead, stays quiet, watching him get back to assembling ingredients, until there's the faint sound of movement and they both smile again. 

Bart lets Jack sneak up on him. Lets him press up close behind him, wrap his arms around his chest; lets the tension melt out of him as he nuzzles the back of his head, resting his forehead there.

"Hiya, Jack," he whispers, his eyes closed again, and Marko makes a soft sound of greeting in the distance as he feels his breathing deepen. Jack bends his head without letting go, kisses slow and steady from the nape of his neck upward into his hair, and Bart disappears into the sensation, sinks fathoms deep before he can resurface.

"I'll be there in a minute," Marko rumbles from the stove, and Bart acknowledges with a hum, Jack's breath hot against his temple; Jack's favourite cologne, musky and sweet, mixing with his own, fresh and sharp.

Bart lets himself lean further backward, relaxing into his arms. Jack is soft and toasty warm, his sweater the deep caramel colour of a perfectly browned marshmallow. God, he's missed him. The last time they saw each other it was late summer, the sea breeze cooling their hot skin as they lounged on the hood of Marko's pickup truck, Bart discreetly holding one of each of their hands in his. 

"We've missed you," Jack whispers, the first words he's said.

"I can tell," Bart deadpans, twisting in his arms just enough to kiss his cheek, to see his face, his delighted answering grin, his hair falling gently over his forehead. He can't resist teasing him a bit, stroking his fingers down his thigh, but Jack doesn't take the bait and ask or whine, just softens his smile, relaxes his grip on his shoulder and chest.

"Marko'll be here in a minute," he murmurs, nodding over Bart's shoulder, and then there Marko is, bending gracefully down to press a kiss to his throat, beard prickling lightly at his jaw, drawing a hitch in Bart's breath. So that's their plan, then. It figures. It's not as though Bart could possibly mind being spoiled rotten, now and again. 

His hands reach for Marko's hips, gently pull him closer. Marko's reach over him to brush Jack's collarbones, his wrists resting on Bart's shoulders as both their fingers settle. Jack's hands, eager and just a little clumsy, find purchase between his and Marko's chests; find the lapels of his uniform coat, then the buttons, top to bottom, nudging them undone.

"I've missed y'all too," Bart says, soft, the only other sound their breathing, not quite yet in harmony. Marko is busy kissing up the side of his face; he hums with his mouth at his temple, the same one Jack kissed moments ago, Jack's jaw hovering now at his other cheek, and Bart feels his eyes blink shut again, feels how much heavier they are to open now as he gets warmer, his hands losing grip. 

He surfaces, again. He's not sure how much longer, how much more often he can keep from sinking; he's long since stopped putting up a show, stopped pretending to hate it when Jack's roving hands mess up his hair. He'll try to get to periscope depth, anyway, the next time he dives down. Jack finds the knot of his tie, tugs gently first to the right, then a quiet smile and a quick kiss to the temple later, to the left - hands the tie to Marko over his head, and turns his attention to his uniform coat. 

Marko drapes the tie over the closest dining room chair, his absence a bracing shock of cold that leaves Bart a little more able to stand. Jack eases the coat off his shoulders, gently rubs a hand up and down his spine for warmth, then hands him back to Marko while he puts it away. Bart steadies himself in Marko's arms, reaching for his jaw, leaning up and in for a kiss, and when Jack returns as they break, it's to spread his hands across his back, sweep them up his sides, making Bart gasp into Marko's cheek with the heat of them, the want of them. Marko smells of red wine sauce, and Jack smells of cologne and fresh cotton sheets - but he's getting ahead of himself again, to when Marko will busy himself in pouring each of them three fingers of whiskey, to when Jack will start to feel a backache coming on so they'll tuck him under blankets with a hot water bottle and bring him dinner in bed.

Jack presses his lips to the nape of his neck again. It's slower this time, a pause with every breath, shivers trickling down Bart's shoulders in parallel paths like droplets of water, like Jack's fingertips through his uniform shirt. Marko's sweater yields easily when Bart slips his hands underneath it, lightly dragging his nails up his back as Jack's fingers undo his shirt buttons, find the sensitive spot above his collarbone. He'll have ink smudges there in the morning. They'll last a few days; he'll wear them with pride. 

"Little help here, Marko," Bart whispers as he feels himself start to drift again, his voice still raw but deeper now, gentler even, his hands pushing Marko's sweater up until he takes the hint and pulls it over his head. He smiles up at him in thanks, lets Jack work his uniform shirt and undershirt off his shoulders. "Jack - c'mere, Jack, leave the clothes."

Jack is delightfully pliable, returning with open arms as soon as he's called. Bart turns around, turns his attention fully to him, using every shred of awareness he has left to kiss him deeply until his knees buckle, tucking his fingers underneath his sweater and shirt, not bothering with the buttons - Jack never does up the collar, anyway. Marko presses in close behind him as he takes Jack's lips and finds his way up his back, down to his waistband; Marko's hand strokes gently at Bart's hip, Marko's mouth at his shoulder. Jack, for his part, brushes his hands over every available inch of Bart there is, hovers a breath away from complaining when Bart stops kissing him for a moment to undo his jeans. 

"Sweater," Bart says quietly, and nudges him toward the couch, a hand at the small of his back, while he complies. Marko finds him a cushion, takes his sweater and shirt from his hands, and they settle him there, Marko stroking his hair while Bart strokes his thighs, easing his jeans off as slowly as he can take. He's sinking quicker than Bart is, but then he does, sometimes; his eyes are half closed but alight, his breathing slow and awestruck, his mouth finding Bart's hand as he returns to him and closing on his fingers. 

Bart doesn't have to look to know that Marko is grinning. He doesn't have to look much at all, by now; he knows them by touch, lets Jack drift his fingertips over his palm and wrist while sucking on his fingers one by one, lets Marko undo his belt and pants and does the same for him, methodical, finding him with his free hand and starting to stroke. Jack presses up toward him, already oversensitive, quickly pushing Bart toward the same edge; Bart leans down and kisses him, his thumb between their lips, their thighs pressed together, and turns his face toward the light. When he comes back to himself, his fingers are still lightly stroking Marko, who gently takes his hand to guide it, and follows them to climax. 

Jack surfaces, a little bit, to stroke Bart's hair while he sinks again. He's going to stay under for a while, he thinks, periscope depth be damned. There's dinner to think of in a minute, the rest of their holiday tomorrow morning - and oh, he's getting ahead of himself just enough, this time. He'll fall asleep between them, and they'll pet him in the afterglow.


End file.
